8-7-04

The stands are filling with race fans, each of them eagerly looking forward to a night of excitement.  Donned in the colors of their favorite, they sit waiting to feel the exhilaration.  A father is sitting with two young children answering a thousand questions and relishing the opportunity to do so.  A nervous teen is sitting with a young girl, shuffling his feet and making awkward conversation. 

Still more fans are streaming through the gates, their ears greeted by the songs of summer.  Classic rock and oldies favorites adding to the soundtrack as a local band jams on the main stage.  Stopping at the stand to pick up a program, a weekly fan is sensing a buzz in the air, an anticipation of what is to come. 

Bright colors abound and nearby machines are sitting quietly; waiting their turn.  Tacticians are plotting and scheming; discussing scenarios.  The tools of the trade are being prepared for battle.  This relative peace will soon erupt into a cavalcade of sound. 

The evening is cool and crisp.  Smoke is rising up from the grill and the smell of burgers and dogs is intoxicating.  Preparations are being made behind the scenes, radios are crackling with chatter as the final touches are made and small fires are tended to.    

All rise and heads bow for the invocation and the National Anthem.  Crews jump into action, the unsung heroes shining in the spotlight.  The night’s best are waving to their fans as their names echo through the sky.  Fans are rising to their feet and they cheer. 

Strap in, belts tight, helmet on.   Finally the command, “Gentlemen Start Your Engines.”, beckons the cars from slumber.  The engines roar to life.  The night is alive.  The race is on.